


Vignettes of the Blessed Realm - What Celebrimbor Did Next

by Anna_Wing



Series: Vignettes of the Blessed Realm [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Wing/pseuds/Anna_Wing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Celebrimbor did after his death in Eregion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Celebrimbor In Mandos

"So you, see, Holy One, I am making quite good progress with the theoretical part of the project," Celebrimbor (or rather his ghost) said earnestly. "All I need now is some Loom-time to test the hypothesis. If the result is as predicted, it should be sufficient proof of concept to warrant further development. All we need is a very minor event, one that doesn't involve sentients or even multi-cellular life-forms, so that the reaction shouldn't propagate very far. The Song is a fairly robust artifact, after all, if it has survived the Secondborn this long."

"Hmm," said Vairë the Weaver in as non-committal a tone as She could manage. 

While almost as legendarily impassive as her spouse the Judge (Ages of recording the activities of the Children had left Her both unshockable and rather envious of Her colleague Yavanna's determined focus on beetles), in this case She was conscious of a definite sense of ill-usage. In leaving Celebrimbor in Her sole charge, Mandos was manifestly shirking His fair share of soul-sitting duty. Not that Celebrimbor was unpleasant or even particularly mentally disturbed as members of his family went. He remained the sweet-natured genius with minimal social skills that he had been in life, and as a person Vairë liked him as well as She liked anybody. Even though, to Vairë's great regret - incarnate scientists were _Aulë's_ problem - he had refused to be reincarnated despite repeated offers. Indeed, pleas. Not having a body meant, essentially, uninterrupted thinking time. 

This should not have been a problem. Thinking was the point of the Halls of Waiting. The problem was what Celebrimbor thought _about_.

"Taking into consideration the non-causal, cyclical, network circuitry built into the Loom, combined with its unique nature as an artifact existing simultaneously in the corporeal and non-corporeal realms, I have hypothesised that at sufficiently high energy levels - such as those at which the Valar transact - the corporeal-world ban on retroactive modification of instantiated events could be overcome by... Holy One, you did receive my paper on this subject, yes?" 

"I did." If the Weaver's normal calm needed some work to maintain, only She needed to know it. "Celebrimbor, do you seriously think that you can use My Loom to change the past?"

"Yes," said Fëanor's grandson.


	2. Singing A New Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Valar have a potential-crisis meeting and a different potential crisis emerges for those with eyes to see.

The Valar were in session, incarnate. Due to the potentially extreme nature of the problem, even Manwe and Varda were present, at least in partial awareness, something that had not happened since the death of the Trees. The Mahanaxar, the Ring of Doom, varied in its appearance with the mood of its users; today it was a large, high-ceilinged, circular hall, walled and floored in grey stone, with tall, ogival windows at all sixteen compass points. The windows were reflections of the web of the Loom, so that instead of looking out upon the foothills of Taniquetil each showed Celebrimbor at different periods, researching, designing and making the Rings of Power. Vaire had called the meeting and She was not in a mood for subtlety. 

The Valar sat about the room in no particular order, on padded silk mats with triangular and rectangular cushions for backrests and armrests. A small, six-lobed fountain bubbled gently in the middle of the room, to allow Ulmo to attend in the form in which He was most comfortable.

The Weaver, dressed in austere grey and rigidly upright on Her mat, finished Her explanation of the situation and offered each of Her colleagues a copy of Celebrimbor’s paper (a purely mental construct, since he had been incorporeal when he composed it). A stunned silence prevailed as They assimilated the information. Aule leafed through a copy, having realised it into material form as a matter of habit, making notes with a pencil as He went. His colleagues waited. As the other domain expert, His views would carry the most weight, next to Vaire’s. 

He looked up, eventually.

“Yes,” He said. “I see no reason in principle why it wouldn’t work.”

A meeting of mortals or even Eldar might have dissolved into uproar at that point. The Valar had had long practice dealing with crises, and this one was not immediate.

“No,” Vaire said, in response to the unvoiced question coming from various parts of the room. “I have sealed the Loom against any access by the Unhoused. Now that the possibility has arisen, Celebrimbor is not the only one in the Halls who has the capacity in both strength and intellect to realise this mad, foolish and hideously dangerous plan.”

Vaire did not mince words, when She used them. 

“Who is still in the Halls who could do something with this?” Lorien asked. “Feanor of course. Curufin, Maedhros, Caranthir and a fair few of their people. Most of the qualified Doriathrim and Gondolindrim are out by now, but some from Dor-lomin and Nargothrond are still there. Young Maeglin. Orodreth. Finduilas. Or all of them, in any combination.”

“Who else would know?” Este asked. “Is this…proposition widespread among the Dead?”

Vaire said, “Celebrimbor, unlike his grandfather, has no difficulty either with sharing his ideas or with collaborating with others in their realisation. It is normally an endearing characteristic, and indeed a virtue, even though it has made him vulnerable to exploitation in the past. I do not doubt that he will have shared his thoughts with any in the Halls who have the interest, skills and mental capacity to understand them. As Lorien says, they are not so few.”

The Valar contemplated this. A certain sense emanated from a number of points to the effect that this was just like Celebrimbor.

Vaire added, “I have also temporarily suspended the arrangement whereby messages may occasionally be carried by Our people between the Living and the Dead.”

This received general approbation. The living Elves capable of realising Celebrimbor’s theories were also not so few. That episode with the Ring had been a close-enough shave; no-one wanted to put this temptation before Galadriel, or even Finrod. Or, terrifyingly, Nerdanel.

“How many of them are actually interested?” Nessa, ever practical.

“Only Celebrimbor has approached me so far,” Vaire replied. “I temporised, but obviously this is not a satisfactory response for the long term.”

She cast an impartially chilly stare around the room. “It seemed to Me preferable that for once We discuss a possible difficulty thoroughly and at leisure, and formulate a policy and plan of action before a problem actually occurs. Rather than scrambling to respond to events as has regrettably been the case in the past, with the result that Our decisions are made in haste and without full consideration of possible consequences.”

There was a brief, embarrassed silence. 

Tulkas stretched His legs out. “I think we should just let them get on with it and see what happens.”

The quality of the silence changed markedly. He looked about in response, eyebrows raised.

“What’s the worst that could happen?

“The world could end, but it’s going to do that anyway. Or the Children could come out looking like beetles, I suppose, but I don’t see how that would be such a problem. Yavanna would be happy.” He materialised Himself a cup of wine and took a swig. “Celebrimbor’s had a rough time, poor chap. Let him have some fun for once.”

From the pile of cushions (slowly turning into grassy turves) upon which She was reclining, Yavanna’s deep voice said, “I agree. Let him try.” 

Like the others apart from Ulmo She was in humane form, but instead of clothes all but Her face and hands was covered in long, red-brown fur, with green highlights from algae. The nails on Her long, strong hands were pearly white but bore a suspicious resemblance to claws.

Lorien said cautiously (the Earthqueen had been very touchy since the Numenorean disaster), “I’m not sure that that would be wise, My cousin. What Celebrimbor is proposing amounts to using the Loom to re-sing the Song, which could have all sorts of unpredictable effects, including, as Tulkas has mentioned, ending it altogether.” 

Yavanna shrugged, fur rippling. “Let it end. It was flawed from the beginning. My Trees are dead. The One has killed an entire race of His own Children. The world has been divided. Let Us end the Song and begin it again. Better, this time.”

Nienna murmured from the shadows that shrouded Her, “The One surely had a purpose in permitting the Song to be realised, despite its flaws.”

The claws grew a little longer. “I had always assumed that its end was to bring Melkor back among Us. I do not care whether it is achieved or not.”

Into the (again) uncomfortable silence that followed this bald statement (with which more than one of those present in fact agreed), Orome said briskly, “Kick him out of the Halls, wipe his memory and make sure that he has some absorbing project to hand as soon as he is re-embodied.” 

It was a measure of the Powers’ concern that They actually took some time to consider this proposal.

“Unethical,” Vaire said at last, rather reluctantly. “We cannot force people to leave the Halls against their will, even if they are _fully_ qualified to do so and should have been gone _long_ since.”

Este reached over and patted Her shoulder. During the First Age, the logistical problems of dealing with literally armies of traumatised and guilt-ridden Elves simultaneously had forced Mandos, Vaire and Nienna to call extensively upon Lorien and Este’s people for help. Even in succeeding Ages, the continued turmoil of Middle-earth continued to generate more and more complex work than the Halls had really been intended to cope with. It was a matter of some relief to the Valar that dead Men were not their problem, and dead Dwarves generally took care of themselves (a clear indication, in Vaire’s private opinion, that Aule’s skills in psychological design had been grievously under-rated; he had made the Dwarves to be resilient, and they actually were; She suspected that it was because He had made them fundamentally rational, which clearly Elves and Men were not).

“Nonetheless,” Nienna said, “Our brother has a point. If Celebrimbor could be persuaded to leave the Halls and has some other sufficiently serious problem with which to occupy his energies, the distraction of re-embodiment combined with lack of easy access to the Loom should be sufficient to address the problem, at least for now.”

“Until he thinks of trying to re-create the Loom, this time in physical rather than metaphysical space,” Orome pointed out.

“No need to over-think things,” Nessa said, nudging Her brother with Her shoulder. “If Nienna can find a way to persuade Celebrimbor to go back to being alive, that will solve the immediate problem. And if he thinks of it again, I am sure that we can talk to him about it.”

Vaire sighed very quietly. The hope of getting a properly organised decision-tree out of this meeting had always been a faint one. However, She was a pragmatic Goddess and willing to settle for an immediate solution if it was offered to Her.

“Very well, then,” She said, with a glance at Her spouse. “Do We have agreement? Nienna will find a way to winkle Celebrimbor out of the Halls and find him another project? The others will not be a problem once they are gone from the Halls. It was not their idea and they are unlikely to re-derive it of their own accord.”

Mandos said in His most neutral voice, “I have no objections.” Manwe and Varda smiled impartially on the others and vanished, which was taken as agreement and the signal for general departure.

Left alone, Mandos, Vaire and Nienna looked at each other.

“We’ll leave it to You," Mandos said to His sister. 

“It should be quite straightforward,” Nienna said. Her shadows did not hide Her unaccustomed frown. 

“Does it seem to You that We should be be keeping an eye on Yavanna?”


	3. Celebrimbor Out of Mandos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Vaire has a problem solved_

"I may have a solution for Your problem," Nienna said, looking slightly less sorrowful than usual. 

Vairë looked up from the Loom, into which She was installing various multiply-redundant, anti-tamper, intruder-detection, general-alarm and emergency-shutdown arrangements. 

"I would be grateful for any suggestions," She said with every sincerity. Celebrimbor had looked very unconvinced by Her arguments against using the Loom for experiments in retroactive modification of the Song, and Vaire did not believe in underestimating the ingenuity of the Children.

Nienna sat down beside Her sister-in-law and looked at the innards of the Loom with interest. They glowed gently, making a music so complex that even Her great mind strained to make sense of it; the after-echoes of the Song, reverberating forwards and backwards and in and out and up and down and through and across the Time and Space that the Song had woven. She sang a soft Note and the Loom answered as gently, Her own music an intrinsic part of the structure of the universe. Beside Her, Vairë took up a quiet, harmonising hum, and for a brief moment They Sang again as They had in the beginning, Knowledge and Pity in friendship together.

"Ahhhhh...." Vairë sighed. "Thank you, that was very refreshing."

Nienna smiled. "Nariel(1) and Nerdanel called on Me the other day. They are working on Feanor's silima notes with Finrod and Galadriel, and they think that having Celebrimbor on the team would be useful."

Vairë looked interested. "No-one has been able to crack that code since Feanor died, and he has refused to talk to any of Us about it."

Nienna said, "I passed the message to Celebrimbor, and mentioned that his mother and grandmother had also given Me a list of their and others' research published in Tirion during the past Age, to bring him up to date on developments in the relevant fields. Once he is back in a new body and can read it."

A less austere Goddess might have giggled. Vairë contented Herself with a brief snicker. All direct and most indirect interaction between the Housed and the Houseless was forbidden. It made for occasional inconvenience for the staff of the Halls, who sometimes had to carry messages, but was overall far better for the mental health of both sides. Though during the endless debates about the Finwe-Miriel-Indis issue, Vairë had been driven to propose the establishment of a formal post office; perhaps fortunately that had been overruled by Manwe and Varda. In the present situation, however...

"Give him a little time for the thought of all that inaccessible information to start gnawing at him," Nienna said. "It shouldn't take too long."

 

(1)Nariel is my name for Celebrimbor's mother, who is a quasi-canonical character, since her existence is logically necessary. She has been mentioned before, in my earlier short fic "Brighter Than Ten Thousand Suns".


	4. Celebrimbor's Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celebrimbor returns to old haunts

"Tyelperinquar! How lovely to see you again! Welcome back!" 

The Director of the House of Knowledge crossed the entrance hall at speed and descended upon Celebrimbor like an extremely tall, friendly Eagle. He gurgled feebly as he was enveloped in a bone-crunching hug, but managed to reciprocate with a gingerly pat on Mistress Istariellë's back.

"Thank you, m'lady," he managed to gasp when she released him, "Very happy to be back too." He had rather hoped to slip quietly back into the House of Knowledge at mid-morning, when everyone there would be fully occupied, but that was obviously now out of the question.

"Come," Mistress Istariellë commanded. "We shall have some tea." Celebrimbor followed her meekly up the side stairs to her office and out to the Director's private garden, a small but delightful space with blue-pea vines growing up a trellised wall, a little lotus-shaped fountain and a matching bench, a lush and tidy herb-patch, and a nice eastwards view over the descending terraces of Tirion. He sat down on the bench and took a deep, happy sniff of the herbs (curry leaf, mint, several kinds of basil, ginger, torch ginger, galangal, flowering chives, water mint, pennywort in a wide, shallow pot, lemongrass, fragrant screwpine and a large, healthy calamondin bush). 

Mistress Istariellë appeared from her office with a plate of yellow-bean cakes and a tea-basket, from which emerged a large cylindrical tea-pot and two cups, both patterned with more lotuses. Tea, green and strong, was poured. The traditional courtesies were exchanged (yes, he was well; yes, he was staying in his mother's rooms in the city, since she was mostly either at the House of Aule or with his grandmother in Valmar; yes, she had been the Director for three Great Years now, with a while to go until the end of the Age, when she could return to her own research; yes, still the effect of groundwater activity on vulcanism). A quick update on the current social gossip of the House was given (marriages, children, current status of the major academic feuds, old and new). Celebrimbor reminded himself of Lady Vairë's lessons on Social Interaction With Peers and paid diligent attention.

At last, Mistress Istariellë said cosily, 

"So, my dear, you'll be wanting to catch up."

Celebrimbor nodded, relieved that they had at last reached the interesting part. "Yes, I've missed a lot. Which of the working groups are in Tirion now?"

Mistress Istarielle took a sip of tea. "Well now, let's see. The Yavannildi are presenting their update on the New Spring Project in the Sun Chamber. Angiosperm Taxonomy will begin its Gathering of the Age in the White Garden for the next Great Year starting next week. It's going much better now that Lady Galadriel is chairing. Their rate of agreement is pretty much correlated with the average rate of plant evolution in Aman, so they're keeping up nicely. And the Great Year meeting of Archival Sciences is ongoing in the Moonrise Room, you might be interested in that."

Yes, he was. "Materials, Retrieval or Philosophy?"

"Materials and Retrieval mostly, the arguments in Philosophy have largely been resolved. Everyone has agreed that everything should be recorded, just in case something turns out to be useful later. Lord Finrod is leading the group this time round. The ongoing argument, you know, between the quantum crystallisation faction and the bio-storage enthusiasts. I'll pass you the papers, your mother left a list. I think that you would have a lot to contribute to the discussion."

"Hmm." Celebrimbor took one of the yellow bean cakes (a speciality of the House, a recipe especially developed long ago by the School of Theoretical and Applied Gastronomy). As the familiar, slight sweetness dissolved on his tongue the memory came back, quite without his volition, of the last time that he had tasted it. And suddenly he was young once more, as he never would be again, and instead of the harsh sky and glaring Sun he walked and talked with his father and mother to and fro in the golden warmth of Laurelin, in a world that had never been anything but joyful.

He came back to himself to find Mistress Istariellë watching him with kindness. She refilled his cup without a word and waited without impatience as he got himself together. After a while she said in exactly the same tone as before,

"And of course, the Periannath are on the Lonely Isle now. Rumil is over there, interviewing them."

And there it was. Galadriel had told him the tale of the Fellowship of the Ring when he awoke in Lorien. The last echoes of his great failure, still reverberating. He had dreaded having to face Elrond, but had not quite realised until this moment that there were also Younger Children here, who were also due apology and recompense.

"I have to go and speak to them."

Mistress Istariellë waited, still kind, but with a certain familiar patience. Celebrimbor thought frantically. Aha.

"They're mortal. It should be soon."

That would be why she had been so uncharacteristically hasty about introducing the subject. In the Day of the Trees, a lesson like this might have taken months. But there could be no leisurely approach when dealing with mortals. The Dwarves had taught him that in their efficient way ("get a move on, laddie, we can't wait around for you forever").

Mistress Istariellë was nodding calm approval. She poured him some more tea. He ate some more bean cakes. They discussed the airship schedule from Tirion to Avallonë (via Falastirion on the coast, its sister-port Andunaith on the western coast of Tol Eressëa and Alalminorë, Queen Lalwen's capital on the great central plateau of the island) and agreed that he should leave at the end of the week. Mistress Istariellë would inform her counterpart in Avallone, and he would have rooms in the House of Knowledge there. He would meet the Periannath and his relatives. There was a plan, there was something for him to do that mattered.

Celebrimbor sat in the garden with his old teacher, and realised that he had come home.


	5. New Fruits From An Old Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out some of what Frodo did after leaving Middle-earth.

"Such an excellent notion," Estë said to Nienna, as They strolled by the lake enjoying the evening air and the starlight on the waters. "Vairë was so very worried when he finally left the Halls, poor dear. I'm so glad that You found a way to sort things out. And Aulë and Yavanna are grateful too, for the four-twelves and eight years of peace and quiet since the project began."

"It wasn't so difficult," her sister-in-law said calmly, as always. "Unlike his grandfather, Celebrimbor has always been very open to collaboration in his research. That was what got him into trouble in the first place, if you recall."

"But still, the subject wasn't one that I would ever have thought of."

Nienna smiled, Her dark eyes happy for once. "Oh, the credit for that is all Olorin's. He suggested that the Eldar, especially those who have never known Middle-earth, could benefit from contact, even mediated contact, with a wise and well-intentioned mortal. And Master Frodo was very pleased with the idea too."

There was a little shift in the world, and the Maia formerly known as Gandalf stepped through thin air onto the path before them. He still wore that shape, and would while both Frodo Baggins and Gimli Gloin's-son lived, but the light-heartedness in his face and bearing now, Middle-earth had never seen. In his arms he bore two large and impressive tomes, each bearing on its cover a handsome likeness of Master Frodo's kindly, wrinkled countenance, and the sigil of the Avallonë Publishing Association.

"Here we are, Holy Ones! Straight off the imprinter in Avallonë!"

The three Ainur sat Themselves down in a convenient patch of soft grass.

"Look," Olorin said. "We have the hand-copy, for the people who like physical books,"

"Mmm," said Nienna, who had taken a volume and was already deep in it. The illustrations were charming, She decided. Stylised, in the mortal fashion, but absolutely clear, the identifications impossible to mistake. Yavanna would like them too, focussed on function as She was.

"... and here, Holy Ones," Olorin continued firmly, "Is the mind's-ear version, cleverly forming part of the back cover of each volume, but also available as a separate sheet, convenient for consultation in the field."

"Ah," said Estë. "The new substance. Aulë and Irmo were discussing it the other evening. Fascinating."

"Yes," Olorin said. "The Engineering and Materials Sciences’ Society in Tirion is publishing the details as a joint paper between Celebrimbor and Lady Nariel. It's something like silima, I understand, but stores thoughts instead of light."

"I read the first draft," Nienna said absently, not looking up from the page. "Celebrimbor sent me a copy of the final version, I'll pass it to You in a moment."

Estë turned the book over and placed Her palm flat against its back cover. In Her mind the words sounded, as if the speaker were in Her presence, or sending his thoughts in the Elven manner.

 

 _Hello_ , said the voice of Master Frodo, gentle and friendly, _Welcome to **Taxonomy and Gastronomy of the Mushrooms of Aman, in two volumes...**_


	6. Stars In His Pocket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old hurt is at least partially mended.

Despite the height of Taniquetil, it was not either conceptually or physically difficult to climb. Elves who wished to visit Manwë and Varda or the resident staff of Ilmarin on top of the Holy Mountain were not required to equip themselves with pitons, ropes, crampons and oxygen. There was a perfectly safe path that wound its way smoothly from the city of Valmar in the foothills all the way to the summit itself. The Vanyar maintained it, and used it regularly. There were comfortable, well-organised resthouses at sensible intervals, and even safety-rails at awkward spots, and the view was spectacular at all points along the way. The weather on the Mountain was always good, Manwe not being the sort of deity who indulged in temper tantrums.

Galadriel called a halt at the waystone that marked the official ten-twelfths point. The Vanyar keeping the resthouse were prepared, and had a simple but excellent lunch ready for the High Queen of the Noldor and her companions as they came singing up the path. Her crew of mathematicians, physicists, temporal metaphysicists, materials scientists, gemologists, sub-molecular engineers and forensic cryptologists settled themselves on the verandah, collected food and cool drinks and put their feet up with some relief. It had been a long walk uphill, even from the eight-twelfths resthouse where they had spent the night. 

The High Queen saw her people taken care of, found herself a convenient bench in the garden outside facing seaward (her favourite view), and tucked with pleasure into a large bowl of vegetable stew. She was amused to note that the stew contained mushrooms, so deeply had the Halflings' influence permeated the Blessed Land. The breeze rustled pleasantly in the conifers all around, and somewhere a small waterfall sang quietly over rock. On the verandah, someone had already gobbled their lunch and was playing something appropriately jolly and mathematically complex on a lute, in a key carefully tuned to complement the music of the water. It was a merry party, all of them flushed and happy with a truly epic success. Celebrimbor all by himself was radiating so much joy and contentment that everyone had been basking in it for the whole journey. 

On the thought, her cousin came out with a plate of freshly fried, savoury herb cakes and plopped himself and it onto the bench beside her. Galadriel nodded her thanks and stabbed one with the bamboo pick provided. It was very good, of course. The Vanyar were highly competent cooks when they could be bothered to pay attention. 

"I was wondering," Celebrimbor said, "It was just a thought...do you think Manwe and Varda would object to a funicular? Or perhaps we could hollow a space for an internal lift..."

Galadriel paused to swallow her herb-cake and consider the best approach. It was a purely casual suggestion, she could tell that much (Celebrimbor rarely hid his thoughts, since so few people were able to understand them anyway), so there was no need to over-react.

"I think that the traditional requirement that we walk is not because we lack alternative methods of transport," she said at last. "After all, we could just fly, with that protective equipment that they make in Formenos now, or ride hexapedals, or even use one of Earendil’s new flying ships. The walk is meant to induce a mood of reflection and contemplation, and let us rejoice in each other’s company and the beauty of the way."

Celebrimbor nodded, accepting this. "It _is_ very pretty," he said, looking out at the distant sea, patched silver and shadowy in turn as little clouds chased the afternoon Sun. They were already so high up that the air was cold even for Elves, and Her summer warmth was soothing on the skin. Everyone was wearing sensible walking gear, as was also customary, though they were also carrying party clothes for the summit, to show respect to the Powers (Who of course barely noticed clothes at all, but had learned to appreciate the courteous intent). He ate herb cakes, in a reflective way.

“Do you think that we’ll be in time?”

Galadriel said reassuringly, not for the first time, “Finrod and your mother and Aunt Nerdanel only went up a week ago. They should be finishing the introduction by the end of today, just as we arrive.” After a moment, she added, “And it was a very good thought on your part to come with us, and not go on ahead with the other team leaders. Everyone very much appreciates the gesture,” and was rewarded by his bright, sweet smile. 

He said, “I was thinking along the way…it has taken so many of us so long, to recreate the work that he did alone, starting from nothing but an idea. We at least knew for certain that it could be done. I wonder…I wonder what he would think.”

Absolutely no-one else in the family would have ventured to voice that thought, though no doubt it had occurred to everyone involved in the project. Galadriel paused for a moment of honest joy in her kinsman. And then succumbed to temptation and said,

“We shall ask Lord Namo and Lady Vairë to find out, afterwards.” 

. . . . .

By Sunset they were reaching their journey’s end, and the path had grown strange, as the influence of the Powers made itself felt. They had crossed the snowline hours ago, and the light of Sunset burned apricot and citrine and shining gold on the snowdrifts and the great crystalline boulders that lined the path (mostly quartz, feldspars and white topaz, said the gemologists, who had not been up there before; the High Queen promised to let them take samples on the way down). The air remained breathable, but there was a clarity, an alien sharpness to it that even the airs of Valinor lacked. They were in Ilmen now, high above the highest clouds and far past the point where anything could live unassisted by the goodwill of the Powers. The travellers no longer sang, lost in awe and the swinging skyfires all about them.

The path ended in a matter-of-fact way, at a towering cliff-face of translucent golden-brown volcanic glass, polished by the winds to icy smoothness. Lights moved within as the Elves approached, and a pair of tall and hitherto unseen doors opened up in the stone. A light but insistent puff of cold air at their backs pushed them all in. 

“Thank you, Holy Ones,” the High Queen said to the invisible Maiar, as the doors closed silently behind them. Lady Ilmarë Herself materialised to greet them, wearing Her usual guise of a very tall, calm, Vanya woman in sun-bleached trousers and calf-length tunic. Courtesies were exchanged all round, as the party was escorted to its quarters to bathe, change clothes and eat.

“Everyone is very excited at your news, Your Majesty,” Varda’s Handmaiden said cheerfully as She led them along a wide corridor of more volcanic glass, a translucent blue-green this time. The wild light of the naked stars, untamed by the mists of Middle-earth, glowed in viridian splendour through the walls and flamed from the windows along its full length.

“Lord Aulë has circulated Master Celebrimbor’s précis, and Lord Finrod and Lady Nerdanel and Lady Nariel have been taking us through it. We’re all looking forward to the full presentation to our Lord and Lady. You’ll have quite an audience.” Galadriel smiled, a little ruefully. Celebrimbor and the team beamed as one.

A few hours later, washed, brushed, refreshed and in their best clothes, the High Queen and her companions were ushered into the presence of the two mightiest Powers of Arda. 

“This is new since your last visit, Your Majesty,” Lady Ilmarë said as they passed through doors of obsidian, not into the great, star-roofed hall of formal audience, but into a pleasant garden of grassy lawns, delicate trees, sweet-scented night-blooming flowers and mirror-like pools, all shielded from the deadly currents of the Void by a clear crystal dome. “The Sindar were a bit uncomfortable with the Great Hall, though they liked the star designs of course, so some of us got together and made this for them. We thought that it would be a nice place for the presentation.” 

The pride and happiness in Her voice made it clear that the Maiar of the Mountain were very pleased with Their work indeed and definitely wanted to show it off. The team made noises of sincere appreciation. There were no lights, but they were unnecessary. The Moon was up, and shone full, as He was always seen from the peak of the Holy Mountain. His light reflected back redoubled from the pools, until the garden was lit as if by silver lamplight.

The King and Queen of the world rose to greet Their guests from the throne platform where They had been sitting at royal ease. In the sword-bright moonlight They were hard to perceive in full, even for the Elves, Their _fanar_ barely containing the weight and intensity of Their power. Manwe’s eyes burned like blue fire in the Void-darkness of His face, and Varda seemed the starry night in a woman’s form. 

_Greetings, High Queen of the Noldor, Queen in Tirion, Galadriel_ , , Varda said, Her voice deep and bell-sweet.  
_And to all your people greetings and welcome to Our house._ the Elder King said. His words rang as if a great wind were given voice. _We rejoice in your joy, and the success of your long labour._

The Eldar bowed low. “Holy Ones, what is lost cannot be regained,” Galadriel said. “But perhaps it can be renewed, even if only by a little.”

Green-clad and tall, Yavanna stepped forward from where She had been standing alone in the shadows of the trees. She looked at the Eldar and smiled, though sadly.

“Even the tallest tree begins as a small seed,” She said. “Thank you, all of you, for this great work, this great gift to Us.” She caught Celebrimbor’s gaze. “What you have done together is not less than the original in Our eyes. And the more so that the knowledge you have gained thereby, whether new or rediscovered, has been freely shared among the Eldar, as it should always have been.” 

Celebrimbor blushed. “Least we could do, Holy One. Contributions from all fields, You know. Multi-disciplinary teamwork, vital to success...”

Even the linguistically sensitive Noldor refrained from trying to rephrase this (with relevant parts of speech added), since it was obvious from Her swift, fierce embrace of the startled Elf that Yavanna understood Celebrimbor perfectly well.

 

As the formal introductions to the Throne came to a close (this took some time, since everyone’s achievements in their various fields had to be recited in full), Galadriel glanced at Nerdanel, waiting patiently beside the Throne. Her aunt nodded, and gathered her teams with her customary efficiency; Nariel, emerging from an intense-looking discussion with Aulë a little way off, arrived and collected hers. Within a remarkably short period everyone was sorted out and being shepherded in the directions of the Valar most concerned in their particular part of the project. 

The Moon set, the Sun rose, the Star did not appear (Earendil was at home, enjoying some peace and quiet), the Moon rose again. The presentation continued and turned, inevitably, into an intense and occasionally argumentative free-for-all discussion. Food and drink were set out under the trees for all who needed them. Various pieces of equipment appeared for demonstration purposes, helpfully transported by the Maiar. Sleep was mostly ignored. 

…..

Finrod and Galadriel strolled through the garden, checking on progress and making sure that all elements of the presentation were being fully explicated to anyone interested. The Moon Himself was elsewhere by then, but the aurora danced in the skies, Varda’s light-garden where She walked for refreshment and ease when the discords and sorrows of Middle-earth dinned too painfully in Her ears. The discussion rose around them, as they walked:

 

The forensic cryptologists were with Vairë and Estë on the central lawn:

“… managed to speed up the application of the integer factorisation algorithms to the prime fields…”

“…lost half a Great Year until the materials experimentalists confirmed that the notes had been, um, _adjusted_ before they were encrypted and stored…”

“… time wasted running multiple n-dimensional verification protocols!”

The High Queen caught her eldest brother’s eye. He grinned openly; her lips twitched. The moment when the normally cool-tempered Nariel had discovered that her father-in-law had not only encrypted his notes (a little excessive but understandable, with Melkor-as-He-then-was on the prowl) but had _falsified his experimental results_ , had become legend almost before it was over. “Eloquent as Nariel” was now a by-word among the Noldor, formally recognised by the _Lambengolmor_ for all literary purposes. Finrod, who had been present, had declined to go into details when reporting to his sister, merely remarking, “I wouldn’t have called even Sauron those names.” 

Nariel had at least had the satisfaction of working out how to reveal the real, also encrypted, data (“Curufinwe and I shared a laboratory with that madman, of course we knew how his mind worked!”). Earendil had politely declined the invitation to participate in the presentation, but his loan of the Star to let the notes be analysed by Its light had made the ultimate success of the whole project possible (Feanor had kept his notes not on paper but in four-dimensional form using much the same principles as the _palantiri_ ; the substrate had strongly resembled a disused light fixture, which had allowed it to survive the sack of Formenos unmolested). 

The gemologists and the materials team were in full flow, gathered around Aulë, Oromë, Vana and Nessa by a pool of white water-lilies. A bubbling fountain indicated that Ulmo was present and paying attention as well.

“…highly deceptive in their basic morphology, especially when you try to combine the basic crystalline structure with the photon containment functions of the meta-temporal cycle …”  
“…if the timing of the different crystallisation processes isn’t controlled exactly down to pico-seconds you end up with unstable enantiotropic polymorphism and the whole structure collapses if you so much as look at it sideways….”  
“….manipulating the Song’s space-time-intention manifold to simultaneously contain and generate the ancient light…”

Nienna, Yavanna and Lorien sat in silent communion with the meta-temporal physicists under a pergola covered in sweet-scented moonflowers. Galadriel, whose work on the Mirror in Lothlorien had been the basis of most of the field, moved to join them. Finrod went on alone, back towards the Throne, where Celebrimbor had almost finished (for this particular occasion, at least).

“In summary, with careful attention to starting conditions we can actually adapt _silima_ to a wide variety of uses in the energy storage and retrieval line. Heat, light of different wavelengths, kinetic energy, information both thought and written, all of these can be stored, though in a static rather than a dynamic condition, unlike the originals, which actually makes both manufacture and retrieval very much easier.” 

Celebrimbor was sitting cross-legged on the throne platform with Varda and Manwë (who had moved to give him space). A stack of small boxes, glowing faintly in different colours, lay open between Them and him, and a snowfall of scribbled-upon sheets of the new, reusable notepaper was scattered about. Nariel and Nerdanel sat on the grass nearby, their own notes tidily to hand, and a crowd of fascinated Maiar was gathered around.

“So you see, Holy Ones, virtually every stage of the research process has budded off the most extraordinary possibilities! We have untold Ages worth of work ahead of us in so many fields! Materials science, pure and applied mathematics, energy storage, interior decoration, linguistics, data storage and retrieval, clothing design, communications theory, musical theory, meta-temporal physics and philosophy, plant genetics, and I am sure many things that we don’t even conceive of yet, really, rediscovering _silima_ is just the _beginning_ of everything that we could do…”

Finrod Felagund, wisest among the Wise (though being so he would sincerely have denied the title), caught his breath as he understood what was unfolding before his eyes. _Oh Andreth, you should have lived to see this!_

He felt the pressure of the Presence beside him, and looked up into Mandos’ tranquil, remote countenance.

“Yes,” the Judge said in His quiet voice, “thus the Song tends to itself, and Fate is a subtler matter than perhaps the Firstborn understand it to be. This is what Feanor should have been, was meant to be, among the Eldar. A little late, perhaps, but what are a few millennia in ten thousand thousand...”

Celebrimbor was reaching his peroration.

“Of course, Laurelin’s light is no longer available to us, Holy Ones, without some extremely dangerous temporal manipulations that I am now persuaded are too hazardous for us to attempt, at least in our present stage of knowledge, but Telperion’s survives and could be accessed to provide the seed-sequence of a whole new generation of at least partial silmarils! All we will need is a star or two, if You could spare them …”


End file.
